


stockholm syndrome

by donttouchmyfeet



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, IKEA, Identity Porn, M/M, lots of swearing, well kind of identity porn but not really, yet another dick joke because that's what Wade does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donttouchmyfeet/pseuds/donttouchmyfeet
Summary: Peter had been hoping his new neighbor would be boring and low-key. As luck would have it, W.W. was not quiet, and while he did technically mind his own business, he had little to no regard for anybody else’s comfort or sanity. As far as Peter could tell, the person spent as much of his time as possible having raucous, filthy, and occasionally disturbing sex.AKA: A shameless plug for IKEA.





	stockholm syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh I just love these two dumb idiots in love and I already have a few more ideas swirling around!!!! Title because IKEA is Swedish and Stockholm is in Sweden and idk, I thought that was funny. Whatever.

Peter was _tired_.

Well, more tired than usual. He’s a grad student with a full-time job and a secret double-life where he runs around in spandex kicking ass, so on a given day, his baseline is “falling asleep in the shower.” But ever since his stupid new neighbor moved in, despite what Peter would have thought possible, his sleep pattern had somehow gotten even worse. 

Another series of loud, rhythmic bangs came from next door and Peter rolled over, groaning. He cracked one eye open to peek at his alarm clock, which glared 4:51 at him in bright red lights. An hour and a half of sleep was actually more than he’d been getting this month. 

At the beginning of September, Peter had been unlocking the front door of his building when he saw a new slip of paper next to the buzzer for apartment 513. A “W.W.” had apparently moved in next to him, despite Peter not having heard the usual bustle of moving sounds. Good, he reasoned. Maybe W.W. would continue to be quiet and mind their business. Despite it already being the fifth of the month, Peter hadn’t seen or heard the person, so this would probably be a perfect arrangement, given his less-than-normal schedule. 

Looking back, Peter wanted to kick past-him right in the ‘nads for jinxing it with that one dumb, oh-so-naive thought. 

W.W. was _not_ quiet, and while he did technically mind his own business, he had little to no regard for anybody else’s comfort or sanity. As far as Peter could tell, the person spent as much of his time as possible having raucous, filthy, and occasionally disturbing sex. 

Lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, Peter wondered how his life could have possibly gotten so terrible in such a short period. He was finally making okay money, despite being a grad student, thanks to Tony hiring him on in the lab at Stark Industries. He’d upgraded to actual frozen meals now instead of canned junk (because he still refused to actually cook) and even had a Netflix account. Getting this apartment had been the kicker: it was in a nice, historic part of Queens, filled with a surprising amount of greenery, wholesome families with dogs, and close enough to the 7 that he didn’t feel like he was losing too much time by taking the train to work instead of swinging. Life had pretty much been as great as it was ever going to get for Peter, until W.W. came along. 

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” W.W. yelled, each word punctuated by a loud bang. “Fuck yes, baby, slide it in. I’m so close! 

“I don’t think it’s going to fit,” came the panting voice of the older woman that Peter often heard during these...rendez-vous. 

"Shit, shove it in, it’s almost ready! We can make it work,” came the breathless response. After several more thumps, and what sounded like an entire bed frame sliding across the length of the apartment, W.W. moaned in victory. “God, yes, I knew you could do it.” The loud crack of a high-five came through the walls, followed by the unmistakable sound of two very tired people collapsing. 

Peter closed his eyes and sighed to himself. His neighbor had a filthy mouth, was incredibly rude, and clearly didn’t have a proper job, judging by the near-constant sex at all hours of the day, but he was still getting some more regularly than Peter ever had. What was the point of being a relatively financially stable superhero-slash-scientist when he couldn’t even get a date? 

He flopped over face-first in his pillows, hoping he’d either suffocate or fall back asleep. He honestly didn’t care which, at this point. 

*** 

Peter crashed hard into the roof of the building, rolling to a stop and trying to catch his breath. After a particularly difficult fight with the Vulture, he was pretty sure he was dying. 

Okay, he wasn’t really that hurt, just _exhausted_. He just fought a guy who pretends to be a giant bird as like, a hobby, so he felt entitled to a little drama. 

He lay flat on his back, spreading his limbs out like a starfish and staring at the few stars he could see beyond the light pollution. It was almost 3am, and while he had done enough crime fighting that he’d feel okay about calling it a night, he didn’t want to bother going all the way home just to have W.W. wake him up. Again. Peter had tried to nap after he got home from work, but was awoken promptly at 7pm by more shrieks of ecstasy from next door (“fuck _yes_ , peg it like you mean it!” followed by a woman’s voice yelling “I’m trying, asshole!”) and scrambled out to go to the school library, to go back to work, to go on patrol--literally anywhere that didn’t involve hearing W.W. having what sounded like a fantastic time without him. 

Wait, not without him _like that_. Peter was just particularly irritated at all the action W.W. was getting only because it further emphasized how little he was getting himself. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had opportunities over the years, but school had gotten in the way, and then Spider-man had gotten in the way, and then there was grad school, and finding a job, and continuing to save the world, and somehow, Peter just kept putting off relationships until people just didn’t bother anymore. He’d actually heard someone in the lab asking another coworker about him the other day, only for the coworker to laugh. “Peter? He’s super cute, but don’t bother. The guy like, literally doesn’t have a life. I don’t think he’s ever talked to another human outside of work.” 

It had stung a little bit. 

So Peter folded his arms behind his head, still spread flat on his back, and was in the middle of making a mental pros and cons list of Spider-man just sleeping on a random rooftop when he heard very quiet footsteps, just before his spidey sense tingled. He wrinkled his brows. Usually the sense kicked in _before_ his hearing. Maybe the exhaustion really was getting to him in a bad way. 

“Doth mine eyes deceive me? Is that a Spidey pancake I see, ready and waiting to be drizzled in some hot, 100% Canadian ‘Pool syrup?” 

Peter groaned and sat up, rolling his neck to stretch it out. “God, Wade, you’re disgusting.” 

Wade sauntered over with all the lithe grace of a predator and folded himself onto the ground next to Peter. “Why so gloomy, George Clooney?” 

Peter scowled at him. “Dude. Don’t be weird." 

Somehow, Wade managed to make his eye roll clear through the mask. “I’m just _asking_ , my darling Webbed Wonder. I haven’t seen you in like a _month_ and this is the attitude I get?” He threw himself back on the rooftop dramatically, then grimaced when his katanas dug into his back. “Where’s the string quartet serenade? The rose petals? The aphrodisiac taco platter? It’s like you didn’t even miss me.” 

“Maybe I didn’t,” Peter snapped, then immediately regretted it when he saw the other man’s face drop slightly. They _were_ friends, and Peter did really enjoy their time together, even if it didn’t happen that often. He and Wade had gotten pretty close over the last year and a half or so. They had shared several late-night meals together, Wade revealing his scars and Peter revealing more and more of himself. Peter found himself confiding in the other man when it came to his superhero-related troubles, and sometimes even his personal ones. “I’m sorry,” he sighed after a pause. “It’s just been a really rough couple of months. I got this new apartment and I’m having...neighbor issues.” 

“Ah, yes, of course,” Wade nodded wisely. “What is it? Cooking meth? Setting off the fire alarm? Having the police come raid the building and forcing you out of the apartment in your underwear while they search the place so that all your other neighbors have to see the custom Captain America heart patterned boxer-briefs you have that are also doing nothing to show off your goods because it’s freezing outside and the boys weren’t prepared for a show?” 

“Uh, that’s oddly specific,” Peter said, raising an eyebrow. Wade shrugged and pretended to look away, whistling what sounded like the Dixie Chicks. “I’d actually prefer that, I think. No, it’s this one neighbor who’s literally right next to me. He’s just...really loud,” Peter finished weakly. 

Wade leaned in closely, so his face was mere inches from Peter’s. The latter held very still, feeling very uncomfortable, but not sure what the mercenary was going to do. After a few moments, Wade cackled. “Oh my god, are you jealous because your neighbor is having daily fuck fests??” He rolled away, laughing. 

“Ugh, shut up,” Peter frowned. “I’m not _jealous_ , I’m annoyed! The guy has sex at least four times a day at the weirdest times, it’s been a month and I still haven’t figured out what the best time of day to sleep is because he’s totally unpredictable.” He made a face at Wade, who was still shaking from mirth on the ground. “I’m serious! I’ve never been this tired in my life, man.” 

The other man finally sat up, fake-wiping at his eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it. Little baby spiders get grumpy when they don’t get their beauty sleep.” Peter punched him. “Ow! Sorry!” Wade rubbed at his arm. “Listen, I’d offer to kill him, but, you know.” 

Peter glared at him. “No killing, Wade.” No matter how much he secretly kind of wanted to murder W.W. himself. Violently. 

“I know, I know!” Wade put his hands up placatingly. “But, you know, I’m also...not…” he trailed off, not meeting Peter’s eyes, but clearly hoping he would pick up on whatever he was trying to say. 

“You know I love really annoying and ambiguous conversations, but how about we get raunchy for once and you just tell me what the hell you’re on about. I don’t have the brain power to deal with you right now,” Peter rubbed his temples. He was fading fast. Maybe he could finish up this conversation quickly and get home. Maybe W.W. might even let him sleep for an hour. And maybe Tony Stark would give up technology, since none of those other things were likely to happen. 

Wade shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not really...killing stuff. People. That much anymore.” He looked down at his hands. “Well, at all, really, for a little while. It’s actually one month today.” 

“Are you kidding?” Peter couldn’t help it, he flung himself at the muscled figure beside him. “Wade, that’s awesome! I’m so proud of you.” He meant it, too. He knew how hard Wade had been trying to do better, to follow in Peter’s footsteps and _be_ better, and how difficult a journey it had been. Despite how annoying he used to find Deadpool, Peter found himself admiring Wade’s determination every time he kept trying after he slipped up. And maybe admiring his shoulders, too, now that he could feel them up close, _wow_. “But what are you doing for money?” 

“Oh, you know,” Wade flapped a hand around vaguely. “This and that. Stuff. Whatever.” 

Peter leaned around to catch Wade’s eyes through their masks. “Wade, seriously. You’re amazing, and I really am proud of you. I mean it.” 

The now-ex-mercenary shrunk in on himself a little at the praise. “Thanks, Webs,” he said softly. 

They stayed quiet for awhile, longer than Peter thought possible. And if he held on maybe a little too long, neither of them mentioned it. 

***  
On Friday, Peter was precariously balancing several grocery bags as he walked up the final flight of stairs to his apartment. He’d just gotten paid and had actually bought some fresh produce, mostly because of Tony’s not-so-gentle urging after seeing the last lunch he’d brought in to work with him. 

(“Kid, this is the fourth day in a row you’ve brought half a pizza for lunch. You know that doesn’t count as meal prep, right? I’m genuinely afraid if you don’t eat a vegetable soon you’ll get scurvy or something else that’s borderline impossible to get this century. Jarvis, hack his phone and put citrus on his grocery list, throw in a few idiot-proof dinner recipes, too. And have Dum-E make him one of those kale smoothies and force him to drink it all, don’t look at me like that Pete, if you don’t, I’m firing you right now, you little shit.”) 

He was nearing the top when he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. There, outside Apartment 513, was a man. _The_ man, W.W. Peter stared at the back facing toward him, suddenly understanding how W.W. could be having that much sex. In his fitted black jeans and dark hoodie, it was clear that W.W. was absolutely, unequivocally, without a single doubt, _hot as fuck_. The man had a powerful build, broad shoulders, and a few inches of height on Peter. He had to swallow to stop himself from drooling. 

Peter wanted to climb him like a goddamned _sequoia_. 

Well, after he yelled at him first about what an inconsiderate asshole he was. “Hey!” Peter shouted, trying to balance his bags. “Wait up!” He started to rush up the last few stairs, feeling one of the paper bags tearing. The guy paused for a moment, before turning the key and slipping inside, shutting the door behind him. Peter made it to the top step just as the cantaloupe he’d purchased on a whim fell out of the bottom of one of his bags, tumbling down the stairs and splattering all over the floor below. 

Peter swore, setting down his bags before going back down to clean up the mess. Now that he knew what W.W. looked like, listening to the raucous sex noises was going to be absolutely unbearable for reasons other than keeping him up at all hours. 

Goddammit, he needed to get laid. 

*** 

It was the beginning of November, two months after W.W. had moved in, that the lack of sleep finally, truly hit him. Hard. 

It was around 11pm, and Peter had already been out for three hours. For some reason, the post-Halloween high had crime in the city rising to an alarming rate. Tired from the beginning, he’d stopped an armed robbery and several burglaries before he came across what appeared to be a drive-by shooting. 

Peter swung himself quickly after the car that was screeching away from the scene where police had already arrived. If he could just catch up, he could web the culprits out of the car and leave them for the cops to pick up. There were at least four people in the beat-up Dodge, meaning picking them off one-by-one while preventing a crash and any collateral damage might be more difficult than usual. 

“Shit!” Peter dropped 40 feet as his spidey sense blared, narrowly avoiding a gunshot. Great, now the passengers in the car were shooting at him. Definitely more difficult than usual, he needed to wrap this up quickly before any stray bullets caught one of the not-insignificant number of bystanders out at this hour. 

Throwing himself forward as fast as he could, panting to keep up, he managed to web one of the men in the backseat and pull him out of the car, sticking him to a nearby building. Then, without any warning, he felt a searing, unfortunately familiar pain in his shoulder. 

He’d been _shot_. And in his exhausted, beat-up state, his spidey sense hadn’t even let out a single, tiny blip of warning. 

“Goddammit, I am _done_!” Peter yelled, pain radiating through his body and making him absolutely furious. Pushing the pain aside, he caught up to the car, landing on the hood and webbing buildings on either side while planting his feet, forcing the car to a stop. Before the men inside could blink, he webbed the guns out of their hands and wrapped them up together in a bundle. “I was trying to avoid property damage, you jerks,” Peter ranted, “but now you’ve shot me and I’m pissed off and I needed to wrap this up so I can go kick my stupid, sexy neighbor’s ass. You goddamn assholes!" 

The men stared at him, confused, as Peter finished webbing them up. “Absolute _assholes_!” he emphasized before shooting web up to the nearest building and taking off. 

He and W.W. were going to have _words_. 

***  
It was just after midnight when Peter finally made it home. He quickly slid through the window of his apartment and shucked off his suit while walking to the bathroom to grab tweezers. Looking at himself in the mirror, he gritted his teeth and held on to the sink with his bad arm as he used the other one to dig around and, after some swearing, pull out the bullet. 

“God _dammit_ ,” he hissed to himself, grabbing a t-shirt and sweatpants from his room before heading to the door. He could deal with cleaning and stitching later. Right now, he wanted to go kick the ass of a giant sequoia tree. 

“W.W.!” Peter shouted, banging on the door with his good arm. “Get out here, you asshole!” He continued pounding until the door suddenly opened and a fist caught his, mid-knock. 

“Who the fuck--holy shit, were you _shot_?” The man at the door was undoubtedly the same guy he’d seen outside in the hallway, but Peter was so furious he barely glanced at his face as he pushed past him. 

“You absolute motherfucker, this is entirely your fault!” Peter stomped into the living room, which was littered with half-built furniture. It was a mess. He knocked a vase off a table as he paced around, just to be petty. “I wouldn’t have gotten shot if I was getting some sleep, I would have been able to dodge it in time!” 

W.W. approached behind him while Peter glared at a half-built dresser, seething and muttering curses under his breath. “I’m sorry, what?” the man said. He sounded vaguely familiar. “Not to like, be rude or anything, but how the fuck would a string bean like you dodge a literal bullet, even if you were well-rested?” 

“ _I’m Spider-man_ , you dingbat!” Peter turned and roared, then threw his hands over his face in horror. 

The biggest secret of his entire life, and he’d just yelled it to a complete stranger because he was sleep-deprived, annoyed, and maybe bleeding out a little. Life could not possibly have gotten any worse at that moment. 

“ _Webs_? Oh my god, you’re _hot_.” 

Peter slowly lowered his hands. Oh, no. Life could get worse. “ _WADE_?? You’re my asshole neighbor?!” 

Wade’s bright blue eyes stared at him in shock (and how had Peter never seen his eyes? They were crystal clear, and soft, and dreamy, and oh, the blood loss was getting to him). “Wait, I’m the fuck fest guy?” He asked, bewildered. “I’m confused.” 

“You!” Peter drawled, and yes, he was definitely feeling light-headed. “You, Wade W., whatever your last name is, have been keeping me up all day and all night with your silly little sexcapades!” He pointed accusingly at Wade, swaying on his feet a little. 

“Wilson. Wade Wilson, or just Ms. Wilson, if ya nasty.” The ex-merc leaned forward, placing an arm on his good shoulder to steady him. Peter found he didn’t have the energy to shrug him off. “Spidey, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said placatingly. “Trust me, you would have definitely heard me bragging if I’d been getting mind-blowing sex several times a day. Also, we should maybe take care of this gunshot wound that is somehow my fault, you don’t look so great.” Wade looked nervously at the growing bloodstain on Peter’s shirt. 

Peter squinted at him and sat down on the couch behind him with a heavy thump. “But the yelling...and the swearing,” he blinked owlishly at Wade. “The other night you said, and I quote, ‘slob on that knob, bitch!’” He threw his hands up in the air. “You talked about drilling! And pegging! And making things fit in holes!” 

Wade’s eyes widened comically and he fell down on the couch next to Peter, bursting into laughter. “Oh, my _god_ ,” he wheezed, clutching his chest as he giggled uncontrollably (when did Wade’s hands get so attractive? And big! Were they always that big? Peter carefully filed that thought away to contemplate later when he had enough blood flow to his brain). “Spidey, what kind of freak do you think I am?” he gasped. “That’s just disrespectful!” 

“Okay,” Peter said slowly. “So what the hell, then?” 

Gesturing around at the mess littered around him, Wade cackled. “Furniture, Spidey. Remember how I told you about quitting the ol’ killing business? Well, I gotta make money somehow, so I figured putting together IKEA furniture in my spare time is both productive and weirdly therapeutic. Remember Blind Al? She helps sometimes.” He grabbed a leaflet off the coffee table. “See? HEMNES, the knobs are a pain in the ass, but it’s a good looking dresser, all things considered.” Wade grinned sheepishly. “And maybe sometimes I get a little frustrated and use slightly colorful language. Sue me." 

Peter glared at him. “Are you saying that you’ve been putting fucking Swedish furniture together at all hours of the day in order to get out of the mercenary life, and saying disturbingly sexual phrases while assembling it?” He feebly shoved at Wade. “I can’t believe you.” 

Wade pursed his scarred lips. “I fucked up, I really am sorry. I didn’t think about how it would keep people up. Thinking about others is not really my thing.” He stood up. “Speaking of, though, let me grab some stuff to bandage you up with, that blood stain is getting really close to my LANDSKRONA and it’s genuine leather, it would be a bitch to clean.” 

Sinking back into the couch, Peter closed his eyes, feeling woozy. In one day, he’d been shot, revealed his identity to a stranger, and then discovered that stranger was Deadpool, who was both his annoying neighbor and also the guy he had kind of cuddled with on a rooftop a few nights ago. And he had lost a lot of blood. Life was weird. 

“Here, Webs,” Wade said, sitting back down on the couch and handing him a bottle of vodka. “A swig for you and then some to sanitize that literal gaping hole in your shoulder. Sorry, I don’t really keep antibacterial stuff around, you know. And for once, I’m not trying to be weird, but you’re gonna need to take off your shirt.” He hovered over Peter, not quite wanting to touch him without permission. 

“My name’s Peter.” He put a hand on one of Wade’s and looked him in his (beautiful, clear, sparkling) blue eyes. “I like you, Wade. And I’m still really, really proud of you.” 

Wade grinned crookedly, eyes twinkling as he turned his hand over to hold the other’s properly. “Nice to meet you, Peter. You’re a big sap.” 

Peter looked at his beaming face, that scarred jaw he knew so well, and couldn’t help it. He leaned forward and pressed his lips softly against that perfect smile. Peter leaned back, watching the dazed expression on Wade’s face. 

“Wow,” Wade murmured quietly. “You mean it?” 

Peter smiled at him, taking in his dumbfounded look. “Yeah, I do. I really do.” He moved in again for another kiss, Wade meeting him halfway. “Hey, Wade?” 

“Yes, Petey?” Wade sighed happily against his lips, pulling back to rest his forehead against Peter’s. 

“If you build furniture after 9pm ever again, I’m going to shoot you in _both_ shoulders, asshole.” 

Wade pulled back, blinking rapidly. “Pete--” 

“I’m serious, Wade,” Peter mock-glared at him. “I’m not above a little maiming if it means I get more sleep.” Peter didn’t fight him off as Wade leaned in to kiss him again. 

“Holy shit, Spidey,” he whispered. “That is _such_ a fucking turn on.” 


End file.
